Remembrance and Forgetting
by Merely a Dark Lord
Summary: Years after the Fall of Cocoon, an estranged Hope returns to New Bodhum with a mysterious mission. Pursued by old friends and new foes, he must delve into a world of danger and intrigue that threatens to destroy humanity itself.


**Author's note:** Hi everyone. After a long interval, I'm back! This is a story that combines action, adventure and drama in my own setting and introduces new heroes and villains, although sometimes the line that divides the two is blurry. The first chapter does not feature much action but I can promise more in later chapters. I would appreciate any reviews and will welcome any constructive criticism of my ramblings.

**Disclaimer:** I, the author, do not, in any way, profit from this story and all creative rights to the characters, settings and other such things belong to their original creator(s), ie. Square Enix and co.

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**Remembrance and Forgetting**

**Chapter 1:**

**Pain and Remembrance**

_"Man broke the shackles that the Maker's hand had wrought, drifting into evil, driven by love of greed, thirst for vengeance, a lust for power. Death and destruction followed until all seemed lost, lives destroyed, humanity lost in the battle for survival. Some survived, and for them, there was only pain and remembrance."_

_An excerpt from 'Monumentum ex cado' (Memories from the Fall), thou__ght to have been written c.900 After the Fall of Cocoon._

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Pain. It surfaced from deep within him. A dull throb that rose to a thundering crescendo as awareness slowly crept into limbs long held imprisoned within ice. His eyes shot open in response to the all-consuming pain that forced his hands to curl into fists and made every muscle spasm as if his entire body had been set aflame. With an almighty crack, the frozen prison shattered, dissipating into a thousand crystalline shards, flashing brilliant silver in the final rays of a sinking sun before the wind whipped them away.

The man fell to his knees, rapidly stealing deep breaths of sweet mountain air, one hand shading his eyes against the sun. Plain dark britches and a dirty white shirt covered a frame that was more slender than muscular, built more for speed and stamina than strength.

As his breathing eased, age-old survival instincts took hold. His head tossed from side to side and sickly yellow eyes scanned the surroundings while a hand caressed the hilt of a blade held in a scabbard tied at his waist. It was a distinctive hilt, one that would have merited a second glance or an appreciative comment. The crossguard and grip were made of a dull gray metal, perhaps steel or cast iron and though it was well crafted, with no visible grain or joints, it was more functional than anything. It was the pommel that stood out. Set with a single unblemished piece of amber, it shone with a pale gold light so unlike his hard eyes. Those golden irises did not shine at all.

Satisfied that he was in no immediate peril, he sat on a rocky outcrop, cradling his head in his hands as remembrance flashed into his eyes and thoughts returned unbidden, some pleasant but most unwanted. Sadness and regret followed but he tried to reconcile himself by thinking and, for the sake of his sanity, believing that he had had no choice and had only done what needed doing.

He did not know how long he had been in stasis. Truth be told, he did not really care, and would have preferred eternal sleep to the life of a slave. But he had no choice. Even now, minutes after waking, he could feel it. He could feel his master calling out to him. It was as if a fishhook was lodged in his heart, reeling him in. The attraction felt strange, discomforting almost. Not pain but rather like the memory of a pain that you wanted to avoid. He rolled back his right sleeve to examine a serpentine mark that was wound around his forearm, deep crimson against his olive skin. The skin around the mark seemed red and tender as if someone had recently looped a hot wire around his arm, branding him in the process.

He got up with sudden purpose in his stride, climbing up a nearby pine with the agility of a cat. He seemed to be on a tall hill or a small mountain. The land ridged around him throwing up towering mountains, covered with thick masses of coniferous trees and peaked with snow. Thin streams wrapped around them like shiny ribbons. Far to the south however a series of smaller, more sparsely forested hills gave way to flat plains and in the distance, he could see a curious sphere against the setting sun, held suspended above the surface by a silvery shaft. The sphere seemed familiar somehow. Running a hand through thick black hair, a memory surfaced from long ago. He remembered the plan some fal'cie had suggested. That orb was the sacrifice to call back the Maker, he guessed. Instinctively, he knew it was his destination and that his Focus was somehow linked with that precariously balanced shell.

A growl from his stomach elicited an irritated snort. Maybe he could snare an unsuspecting rabbit on his journey south. Or maybe he'd come across one of those streams and catch cod or a perch. Sighing softly, he started to make his away down the tree, face contorted in concentration as his feet search for footholds in the ancient bark. Food, he decided, would just have to wait.

* * *

"Major Mueller, Intelligence Bureau," said Major Laman Mueller into the microphone. His voice pattern was analysed by complex voice recognition software and cross-referenced against a database of personnel allowed entry into the inner sanctum of the Guardian Corps headquarters. A light flashed green, allowing the major to wrench open the door and enter. He followed the corridor until he came to dark wooden door. A name plate on the door read in plain, simple script "General Tremlett Cruces, Commander General Guardian Corps". He raised a hand and gave a single knock.

"Enter," said a strong voice.

He entered the room, stiffly marching towards the General's desk, coming to attention and throwing a precise salute, inclining his head as the right hand came to rest over his heart palm downwards. Cruces acknowledged the gesture with a nod, right palm likewise resting over his heart. Sitting at his large mahogany desk, he was every inch the imposing military leader, even though there was more white than grey in his close-cropped hair. The General's rigid posture exuded a sense of command as calculating eyes studied Laman from within a sturdy face.

"What do you have for me today, Major?" asked the Commander, his voice firm but neutral.

"Our investigations into the recent attack on the West Perimeter have uncovered some disturbing facts, sir. I believe that they require immediate action," replied Mueller.

Cruces raised an eyebrow. "Continue."

"After interrogating the soldiers on duty, we can safely conclude that there were four attackers, three males and one female. They were young...we have conflicting reports but late teens, early twenties seems to be the most common answer. Also, sir, at least two of them could use magic and almost certainly not of the AMP-boosted variety."

"L'cie?" asked the General looking at Mueller questioningly.

"Almost definitely, sir," confirmed Mueller with a quick nod. "We are sure that they managed to penetrate the Perimeter in the chaos and headed for the town of Di Venuto. There's another thing sir. One camera managed to partly capture a side image of one of the attackers." The major placed a blurry photograph showing the side view of a boy, no a young man from that hard, determined face, with untidy hair drawing a sword. A single emerald stood out brightly on the hilt of the sword.

"And?"

"Checking against database of all survivors from the Fall of Cocoon reveals, with a 0.05% chance of error, that the photograph is that of Hope Estheim, one of the l'cie that bought about the demise of Cocoon. Records show that Estheim was reported missing from New Bodhum some three years ago, about six months after his father's death. He hasn't been seen since apart from a few alleged but not entirely convincing sightings in settlements close to the Perimeter."

"Don't we have one of the former l'cie in the GC, Major?" asked the General, one hand stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Yes sir. Captain Lightning Farron. She's posted under Major Amodar in Internal Affairs."

There was silence as Cruces considered this information.

"Major, I have a feeling that something big is afoot on Pulse. Something that might endanger the peace and stability of the new colonies we have worked so hard to establish. You are to contact Amodar and ask him to quiz Farron about Estheim. Tell him that GC have visual evidence that the boy is somewhere near Di Venuto and you need some more information about his whereabouts. I want to know every word Farron says, every detail from that conversation, no matter how insignificant. I am also authorising IB to keep tabs on all former l'cie from Estheim's group."

Mueller frowned. "Sir, with due respect, only the Council can give authorisation for spying on civilians."

Cruces pursed his lips, one finger tracing his strong jaw. "Humanity is going through a sensitive period in reconstructing our lives. This is the time for men of action to step forward and lead humankind towards peace and solidity, not for pointless arguing or wavering political debates" Cruces paused, considering his next words. "Soon, the Council will have to make way for a strong leader who can guide humans firmly and decisively. You understand what I'm saying, Major?"

"Yes sir, I think I do," replied Mueller. This new information was certainly unexpected. If he played his cards right, this could have a positive impact on his career.

"Good. People are relying on us to keep the peace so let's not let them down." The Commander's voice had a note of finality in it.

"Yes sir." Laman Mueller saluted and briskly marched out of the office.

* * *

The high vantage point offered by the bridge that channelled traffic from the Outer Colonies into the heart of the capital provided Hope with a breathtaking view of the cityscape of New Bodhum. The capital basked in the shadow of Cocoon which along with its crystal column towered over the city like an artificial tree. Buildings rose all around it and offices, houses and shops were neatly arrayed, each connected to a large and complicated transit network. Much further afield, heavy machinery could be seen and heard taming the wild lands, ripping out trees and replacing them with reinforced concrete beams, as foundations for ever more ambitious structures were laid.

It had been long, he thought. Far too long. He had left the city some three years earlier, soon after his father had died from Pulsian pollen fever. That epidemic had struck the spring following their move to Pulse. It had turned out that some people had severe allergic reactions to the pollen found on Pulse and his father was one of them. He hadn't lasted a week after the fever struck. They had taken him to a hospital and he had died screaming for his wife in the throes of a fever dream. Hope had decided to leave the city then. He had lost his mother, then Fang and Vanille, and now his father. He couldn't bear to lose another one of his friends and so he had fled. Fled the loss, the suffering, the sorrow and, most of all, the fearful glances of those he had help save.

Hot anger surfaced when memories came to him of those looks of fear and panic that he had gotten at school, in the streets, and everywhere outside his home. He had helped save these people, given them a chance to take their fortunes into their own hands rather than becoming a sacrifice for some ulterior motive. Instead of recognising them as the heroes which Snow had claimed they were, the people of Cocoon had rewarded him and his friends with suspicion, apprehension and disdain.

"What's up with you, Estheim? You look like you'll kill someone," remarked Solanki from beside him.

Hope shook himself out of his reverie, a hand toying with an emerald mounted on the pommel of a sword nestled between his legs. "Nothing. Just taking a trip down memory lane, I suppose..." he replied, sighing deeply.

"If it helps, we'll get to the safe house in forty minutes. Half an hour if the roads are clear." said Özil with a quick glance at his watch.

"No such luck," said Hazell slowing their hover-car down as she approached a long queue of hover-cars all trying to approach the city.

"Looks like we'll be stuck here for some time. Wake me up if something bad happens," Solanki yawned. His thickly muscled frame lounged in the luxurious tan leather seats of the hover-car, hands intertwined behind his head as another yawn came unbidden.

"You sleep half the day, don't take your turn driving and usually are a pain in the backside, not to mention your lack of manners. Why did we bring you with us again?" spat out Hazell, her cold eyes swivelling from the driver's seat to glare at Solanki.

"Hmph. At least I'm useful in combat situations...not like you for all your bright ideas. Can't believe you tried to negotiate with a behemoth. A behemoth for crying out loud! Bloody thing would've torn us to shreds. Practically useless against those Perimeter guards too..."

"Break it up, you two. Enough arguing already," said Özil, when Hazell opened her mouth, acting as the mediator, a role he was accustomed to in these verbal spats. She closed her mouth with an audible click and pouted at Özil. Hope watched with amusement as colour crept into Özil's cheeks. That was happening more and more lately. He supposed that most boys his age would've found Hazell attractive with her deep chocolate-brown eyes, soft lips and an easy going demeanour, until of course they found out that her tongue was sharper than those pretty eyes. Her slim, lithe figure often gave enemies a sense of her vulnerability. However, if they thought she was weak, they did not make that mistake again; she was quick as a viper and, with a gun in her hands, she was difficult to take lightly by any foe.

"She started it," muttered Solanki.

"Those guards," said Hope in a quiet tone. "I've been meaning to talk about that. I think we attracted too much attention."

"Oh relax, Estheim!" said Solanki, yawning yet again. "Like there haven't been enough attacks on the Perimeter anyway."

"I won't relax Solanki. I've waited long enough for this. Next time, you disobey me, there will be consequences. Do you understand?" Hope's face was twisted with barely concealed anger, his eyes flashed a malevolent green as he stared down Solanki.

Solanki's response was a loud snort followed by a quick nod before he looked away while Hazell's lips curl into a self-satisfied smile as she brushed a lock of chestnut brown hair out of her face. Hope kept his attention focused on the Solanki. Hazell was right about him in some ways. He really was very lazy. But, built like an ox, he had helped them out of a number of tight spots. Hope had once seen him fell an enemy with a single blow. The ferocity of his punch had snapped the man's neck and death had been quick to follow.

Hope took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He had left New Bodhum without a purpose but in his travels he had discovered new secrets, and old ones. Under the guidance of a new master, to whom he had willingly devoted himself, he had a new aim and this team, who shared his convictions to some extent, would help him achieve it. But he couldn't allow himself to be sidetracked. He had to concentrate. A mistake now could prove costly and lead to an even longer wait. Maker knew this wait had been long enough and further patience seemed beyond him. He had to control every action of his followers, control every tiny detail. First of all though, he had to control his rage.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. They had stayed silent throughout and as they parked in a free space, there were many sighs of relief as everyone stretched in order to work tiredness out of their limbs.

As they prepared to leave the car behind, Özil gave them a quick briefing."Right then, everyone. The apartment we're looking for is about fifteen minutes away. We're in a very busy part of the city, lots of pedestrians, so we should be difficult to pick out or follow. Is everything clear?" There were nods all around. "Let's go then people."

As they left the car, Hope pulled his cloak tightly around him. The thin grey fabric hid his sword from view so as not to attract any unwanted attention. Hope and Solanki lead the way while Özil and Hazell followed further down the busy street. The crowds were immense and they had to force their way through the people towards their destination. People swarmed like flies over shops of all manners which lined both sides of the road selling everything from rare artefacts salvaged from Cocoon to the latest trends in clothing and footwear. Even though there was much wringing of hands and the occasional nervous smile as the group tried to appear nonchalant, they made steady progress and soon came to a more open area near the end of the street where the crowds were much thinner.

"Hope?" a voice called out tentatively. Hope turned at the familiar note in the voice and came face to face with someone he knew very well.

"Nice going, Estheim," Solanki said near his ear. But the words were lost as Hope stared into the eyes he knew so well. They had been frosted over once but now they were a softer blue filled with a mixture of disbelief and concern, for him he realised. His eyes took in her other recognisable features; the subtlety of her hard face, the untidy fall of her hair, the determined set of her jaw, and her solid if uncertain stance.

"Lightning," Hope breathed, his voice barely a whisper. It was at this moment that Özil bumped into Lightning. Hope used the distraction as an opportunity to get away from that piercing gaze, pulling the hood over his face as he melted into the throng.

* * *

Lightning tried to concentrate on the pile of paperwork lying in front of her but was finding it hard going. Her mind kept drifting to that face she had seen on her way to work. She could've sworn it as Hope but, if it was him, he wouldn't have run away. Would he? Anyway, he hadn't been around after Lightning had disentangled herself from the man who had bumped into her.

She thought back to that face with the unmistakable chaotic silver hair and those deep emerald eyes. They had shined innocently when she had last seen them. But now, they had been filled with a purpose and intensity that she couldn't recall seeing in them before. She sighed. It had been so long since she had last seen him. Her brain told her that maybe she really had imagined that harder, more mature face brimming with a plethora of emotions upon seeing her. Fear, anger, concern, confusion, nostalgia, those eyes had reflected the same emotions that had been running through her.

A sharp knock at her door bought her back out of her pensive trance. She sighed, brushing a lock of strawberry blonde hair out of her face. "Enter," she said in a cool voice.

A corporal opened the door and stepped inside, throwing a smart salute which Lightning returned. "Major Amodar would like a word, ma'am."

"Thank you, Corporal," said Lightning, dismissing the soldier. Amodar still considered himself the father that she did not remember very well. He had supported her through the major reshuffle of the armed forces after the Fall of Cocoon and had become both a mentor and a close family friend, offering guidance and advice to both her and Serah.

Amodar's door was ajar so she entered and threw a salute in his direction, causing him to look up from whatever he was reading, a pipe lodged between his lips.

"Why the formality all of a sudden?" he asked her lightly, his eyes looking at her grumpily from within his smooth, plump face.

"You know you shouldn't smoke...it's against the rules and besides not good for you."

Amodar gave a loud snort. "Anyway, IB have sent an image of one of your old friends, Hope Estheim. Apparently a surveillance camera picked it up and they thought they could find him for you. They asked if you had any info on his whereabouts...?"

Lightning looked at the photograph. The features were harder, colder somehow but it was the same Hope she had seen only hours earlier. For some reason, she did not believe the Intelligence Bureau's story. She had not been treated fairly by the Guardian Corps after the fall of Cocoon. They had taken her out of the field, slapped the Captain's bronze chevron on her shoulder to shut her up and, perhaps worst of all, transferred her to Internal Affairs, which dealt with investigations into rogue officers and corrupt practises within the army. It was a desk job and boring in the extreme but at least she worked under the friendly eyes of Amodar rather than the suspicious gaze of some nutter who secretly blamed l'cie for all the ills of the world.

"What are you thoughts then, Farron? Anything to report to Intelligence," asked Amodar, after taking another whiff of his pipe.

"I'm thinking that this just seems...wrong. I'm meant to be disgraced. Ex-l'cie taken out of public eye," said Lightning slowly.

Amodar raised an eyebrow. "The same thought did occur to me."

Lightning hesitated slightly before making up her mind. "Can I talk to you about something? Something that wouldn't go outside this room?"

"Sure...what's wrong? Sit before you talk," said Amodar, gesturing Lightening to sit.

"I think I saw Hope this morning. On High Road, he...he ran away before I could talk to him. At first I thought...I thought it was me imagining things...but now..." Lightning chewed her lip pensively. There was silence as both of them thought over this.

Amodar finally sighed. "Well Light, I'm not sure what's up but I won't tell IB a thing. I don't know what this means but I think we should discuss this further at Snow and Serah's place tonight, if possible. I get a feeling that there's something important going on which we don't know."

Lightning nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I'll try to see if we can get hold of Sazh as well. Meanwhile, I really want to get home quickly after this so I think I'll try to knock off a couple of reports I have on smuggler connections with the GC."

"Good idea," said Amodar, pulling a bunch of notes out of a drawer.

* * *

In the basement of Intelligence Bureau headquarters, every word uttered in Major Amodar's office was heard through a series of minute microphones planted in the furniture. Before Lightning had even left the Major's office, a digital copy of the recording had been emailed to General Cruces.

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**A/N: Don't forget to review!**


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